Gorillaz: Styrofoam and Zombies
by Faust's-Rebellion
Summary: Photojournalist Miss Susan Harrison has been assigned the task of interviewing the Gorillaz for a week or two. She's never heard their music. She isn't prepared. 2-D/Murdoc, possible Russel/Del if you squint.
1. El Manana

So, here I am, making my first serious fanfiction! Gorillaz to be exact. This little beauty is the brainchild of summer loneliness, but it shall continue! Much love to those who follow it!

2-D: Ey, Muds! She's finally postin' dat story 'bout us!

Murdoc: Really, that dodgy piece o' crap? I thought I deleted it…Mmmm…

Disclaimer: I don't own Gorillaz, though I do claim photojournalist Miss Susan Harrison and her naïve mind. Nor do I own Stuart '2-D' Pot-Tusspot or Murdoc Alphonce Faust Niccals. They just do the commentary from over my shoulder.

AN: The timeline is a bit dodgy. Here are the specific Phases of each Gorillaz Member: Noodle-2, Murdoc-1, Russel-1, 2D-midway between 2 and 3. All albums but The Fall have been released. The Gorillaz still reside in Kong Studio, with Plastic Beach as their secondary Studio. I probably won't mention Cyborg, as she isn't really one of my favorite topics. OCs are welcome and will be put into consideration if you are willing to PM me some details. International musicians are nothing without their crazed fans!

Without further ado, may I present Gorillaz: Styrofoam and Zombies!

{KONG}….{KONG}

Kong Studio was a giant in repose, larger than life atop its cemetery hill, awaiting its own destruction at Time's hand. The gates barred entrance although a road-worn blue Volvo stood just outside, nervous and impatient: a butterfly at the lip of a robin's nest. Young photojournalist Susan Harrison sat at the wheel, tinted green and beaded with cold sweat, hunched and weary, her brown hair stringy and limp in her tired eyes as she pressed her brow to the cool faux-leather of the horn. Evidence of her regurgitated breakfast pooled on the thin line of her lower lip. She wasn't ready for this.

Her usually pristine appearance was soiled in light of her newest assignment. The cap-sleeved white shirt, wrinkled. Her calf-length black skirt, hitched to her knees and damp with the perspiration that fell to her lap. Even her stockings were askew, buckled about her ankles from nerve-induced twitching. She's long since abandoned her stylish heels, which lay in the passenger seat with the fast food napkins she'd run over her tongue after ralphing three blocks away. This wasn't her cup of coffee. She interviewed business executives, CEO's, entrepreneurs, and the like. Not musicians. Certainly not these musicians; not the Gorillaz. Business needed a lift, though, and that certainly wasn't going to be a product of Susan lifting her skirt. Miss Harrison was not that kind of woman. She'd taken this assignment unknowing, a babe to the beat that the Gorillaz laid on the radio. She'd never heard a sodding song of theirs in her life. It'd seemed easy at the time: interview a half-conscious group of druggies and binge drinkers for a few weeks, snap a couple dozen pictures, get some autographs to make it count, and be on her way. Then she listened to the new album. It was only out of curiosity. But, as the tired old saying goes, curiosity killed the cat. Now the Gorillaz were going to kill Susan Harrison.

Susan raised her head, her gaze lagging behind until she found herself tracing the four letters on the busted-up gates with russet brown eyes. She'd read up on their background: Murdoc's criminal record, 2-D's medical reports, Noodle's Fed-Ex forms, Russel's school files. They were nowhere near the type Susan usually mingled with. And she'd be spending a week or two here! Panic struck her chest again, her lithe fingers scrambling for the button on her door, barely waiting for the window to hum its way down before hanging her head out, dry heaves wracking her supple frame. Pathetic, really, the way she trembled and shook. At least she wouldn't have to endure the humiliation of soiling their already questionable looking driveway with her stomach contents, seeing as nothing came up. Sweet exhaustion overtook her, numbing the pain and panic until she could care less. Her hand found the window control on its own, the hum seeming thunderous to her ears as the glass rose. Susan had a job to do. Fumbling in a thoughtless haze, numb and without emotion, she slipped her black heels over stockings she'd begun to straighten. Her top and skirt received the same treatment, long-fingered hands running over them until the creases disappeared, plain yet neat nails picking away the occasional crumb or clasp. No time for mistakes. If she was going to suffer, she may as well impress while enduring it all. Thin strands of sable hair were tucked behind her ears, though a small lock of it all remained in her view, at the very edge of her right eye. Her 'feeler' as those at the workspace often called it. When typing her latest article, she could often be found chewing at it, a habit borne in childhood after being weaned of her pacifier. A tremulous shudder passed over her, and with a metallic grinding, pop, and squeal, the gates of Kong Studio opened.

Undefended, the cursed shelter seemed on the offence. Its presence was even more shocking now that the driveway up to it was available. The tombstones beyond made traversing the path all the more formidable, and it remained a nerve-wracking play of gas and break before the hill was reached. From there, a simple yet steep curving stretch of asphalt greeted the Volvo's wheels, leading round the hill, up to the dilapidated carpark. Not wanting to seem obtrusive, Susan parked beside the ill-used basketball hoop just outside the carpark entrance and immediately noticed the wreckage inside via a lifted door. Scrap metal, bumpers and fenders cluttered the doorway, a haphazard path forged in the midst of it like a river in a canyon. It must have served as their usual entryway, but beyond what daylight touched, Susan could see no other light source that would have aided them. Neither was it guarded. It really was hardly surprising, as only a fool (or a fan) would attempt to pass Kong Gates.

Susan stepped out of her car on wary feet, nimbly avoiding several deflated basketballs, one of which still held a threatening switchblade knife in its rubbery hide. A frightening image of Murdoc Niccals came to mind, armed and easily angered, as per usual. Prompted by her own imagination, Susan was sure to leave the car door unlocked. Better safe than sorry.

"Yo," a voice rumbled, not far. It was gentle, genuinely inquisitive, in stark contrast to Susan's surroundings. She turned quickly, agile even if frightened; fingers knitted together in a single mass and held before her chest, as if she were pleading like a small child. However, when she caught sight of the speaker, she was relieved to see Russel Hobbs, allegedly the gentleman of the Gorillaz. He studied her with blank eyes, remaining planted at the edge of the building a distance away. From the looks of the faded white tee and baggy housepants, he'd either woken not too long ago or just didn't plan on going anywhere today. Susan had the vague impression it was both. It was only just after ten in the morning. This was the crack of dawn for most big-shot musicians, and apparently the Gorillaz were no exception.

"You the lady from the magazine, ri'? Susan?"

Still finding her voice, Susan nodded firmly. A few hesitant steps away from her car led her onto yellowing grass just off the asphalt and into a handshake with her newfound host. An encouraging smile lit his face, the kind a doting uncle would give his shy niece. "I'm Russ. Noodle said it'd be best for me to meet you first, 'fore Muds gets up." Susan forced the politest smile she could, highly intimidated and at a loss as she was unable to look directly into his eerie eyes yet he was so large it was impossible to look past him. The situation remained unresolved though, because it was only a second later that he turned his back on her and led her to the official front entrance, rarely used by the Gorillaz themselves. Susan edged around rain-gorged cigarette butts and the occasional shard of broken beer bottle, but otherwise, there was little to indicate they'd even step foot on the concrete porch. The beige double doors lacked the stains and anger-induced dents Susan expected, though once she entered the ground floor lobby, they could be found them on every other door in sight. The front desk was littered with assorted bottles and cans, ash and more cigarette butts. A small stack of spiral bound notebooks sat foremost on the raised bar, surrounded by countless black and blue Bic pens.

Russel saw her taking inventory of the lobby as he called the lift and smirked. "That's all D's stuff… and some of Muds. They collaborate a lot." Susan nodded vaguely, reluctant to tear her gaze away from the mound of information. Maybe she'd just worked herself into a fit. Sure, it wouldn't be the first time a journalist fell for the tough guy front so many bands put up, like they were dangerous and fierce, something that couldn't be tamed into sitting down for a civil event like an interview. If everything was as innocent as those notebooks, maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

"Usually 2-D and Noodle set up chores for us to do, but with everything going on…" Russel shrugged, an apology on his face. "We haven't been the most coordinated, y'know?" Susan shrugged back, more of an 'oh, well' than anything. The flickering neon sign over the lift caught her eye.

It's Coming Up

Then, just below it, unlit…

It's There

Appreciating the joke, Susan chuckled into her hand as the lighting changed, both signs now bright. Russel cracked a smile. "You like that, huh? Noodle gets a kick out of it." She didn't have a chance to reply before the lift opened and Russel waved her inside. The small space was just enough for the two of them, though it seemed impossible at first glance considering Russel's bullish form. He stood to one side, reaching out with skilled hands to press the worn button to the third floor. Susan couldn't help but notice the amber-like stain of alcohol (beer, most likely) on the control panel, and another thought of a riled Murdoc came to mind. Was it really all in her head? "It won't be long," Russel commented, though what he was referring to, Susan wasn't sure. She stood in silence as the lift rose, a short ride to the third floor that opened to an unusual sight.

The lift was located in the third floor lobby, which had been converted into a sort of living/rec room. As expected, it was cluttered with stained secondhand furniture and litter common to those who rarely get visitors. A large flat screen sat upon a wide entertainment center, which housed systems like an Atari and Nintendo 64 behind glass doors smudged with fingerprints but surprisingly unbroken. A questionable pile of clothes remained draped haphazardly over the longer side of the L-couch, bringing to mind the possibilities of the band's late night adventures. But this wasn't the unusual sight aforementioned.

Among the clutter and confusion, someone had been attempting to clean. That someone happened to walk by the lift at the exact moment it opened, arms laden with crushed cans, fast food wrappers, and long-necked bottles half filled with lukewarm beer. 2-D paused mid-step, leg still raised high. Susan was unsure if she should avert her eyes and allow 2-D proper respect by not staring. Like Russel, he appeared to have just woken less than an hour ago, but he remained less prepared for her presence. The erratic spikes of his cobalt hair usually stood numbered from five to eight at most; however, they multiplied tenfold first thing in the morning, giving him a child-like quality. The dark circles ringing his fathomless eyes was not as prominent as Susan had seen on the various album covers she'd looked over in the mall, showing that he must have had some kind of sleep. Unlike Russel, though, 2-D's sleepwear consisted of a pair of faded grey housepants and threadbare army regulation socks, leaving his thin chest exposed for all to see. This would have been considered normal for any man, but upon first meeting 2-D, Susan felt intrusive.

"D, what're you doin' up so early?" Russel inquired, an arm coming to rest against the door of the lift to keep it from closing. Recovering from his initial shock, the young pianist put his foot to the ground, wide eyes daunting in close proximity. Susan noted with humor the slight whistle in his voice as he spoke. "Been cleaning," he stated, looking down at the litter in his arms as if to make sure it truly was what he was doing. After a slow moment, he glanced back up at his drummer. "I wan'ed to clean 'fore the newspaper lady got 'ere." Russel sighed, lowering his head a touch as 2-D blinked rapidly, now taking notice of Susan. "Who's the bird?" he inquired, oblivious.

"This is Susan Harrison, D."

The perplexed youth bounced on his heels, mulling it over before tucking enough cans beneath his chin to free his right hand and reaching out in what was meant to be a welcoming handshake. The fact that his longest finger came centimeters short of Susan's face made it a bit unnerving. None the less, Susan took it and put on her 'proper' smile in light of her embarrassment. Russel, seeing that 2-D was missing the big picture, continued. "She's from the paper."

2-D's hand stopped short, just as he had when the lift had opened. Everything he held fell to the floor. In a flash, he left Susan's grip and darted down the hall with the small hurried steps of a child with its pants round its ankles, wailing in humiliation as he went. Most of it was a jumbled mess of swears and curses; only the last cry of "I'm not even dressed, Russ!" was intelligible. A distant door slammed and echoed in their newfound silence. "I'm sorry, Miss Harrison," Russel followed her out of the lift, cringing as she made the effort to step around the mess. "I checked on him before I came down to meet you. He was dead to the world at the time."

"No, Russel, it's not a problem. If I'm going to be staying here, I'm going to have to conform to the daily routine of the Gorillaz, aren't I?" Russel snorted, a soft chuckle rising from his large chest as the lift doors closed. "Daily routine? Naw, we just do what we do when we feel like it." He reached across the back of the L-couch to remove the clothing, offering her a seat. Susan took it gratefully, trying to take up as little space as possible while Russel scooped up 2-D's abandoned mess in a huge hand. "Stuart seems pleasant enough. To be honest, I was rather nervous about coming here." Stopping by the rubbish bin, Russel's brow creased and then relaxed as he let out a much louder laugh. "You mean D? Yeah, that's him: all six foot two of him. He's pleasant enough when he wants to be. The whole tough front is an act to look more like Murdoc. He kinda idolizes him, ya know?" He returned with a large garbage bag, sweeping the low coffee table clear with a stroke of his arm. "Don't let him hear you call him Stuart, though. He's 2-D now, sometimes Stu-Pot, but never Stuart."

Biting her lip, Susan suddenly grasped the gravity of some of her choices. These people didn't want the professional photojournalist Miss Susan Harrison. So far, that's only led to fright and embarrassment. She could only hope that the rest of the day would work out more in her favor. "Susan? Are you okay?" Russel paused in the middle of deducing which cigarette packs were abandoned and which were empty, peering at their guest with those eerie eyes. Thankfully, Susan was able to look into them to give her brief smile, if only for a second. "Just a bit out of place is all," she replied, hands on her knees as she spoke. Russel nodded slowly, though he didn't quite understand. Maybe it was a woman thing.

"Just wait you meet Noodle. I have a feeling you'll be good friends." He gave a reassuring nod before wandering down the hall in search of a broom, leaving Susan to her thoughts. Whether or not this was right, they'd both soon find out.

{KONG….{KONG}

So, how'd it go? Good enough to continue?

2-D: I fought it was pre'y good. Wu'd yew fink, Mu'doc?

Murdoc: …Pretty good, I suppose…Mggmmm…I'm not in it yet, so whud yew expect?

Comments and reviews are appreciated! Much Love!


	2. 12D3

AN: Continuation of the first chapter, 40 minutes later. We got to know Russel a bit, now we get to dabble with 2-D a bit.

2-D: …dabble…

Murdoc: …Is that whut's really goin' through yer 'ead right now?

{KONG}….{KONG}

"'As anyone seen me pills?"

Susan jumped at the noise, heart fluttering as she caught sight of 2-D's eyes just over the back of the couch. Unmindful that he'd just scared the wits out of her, 2-D rose a bit and scanned the room for his prescription pills, awed at the relative cleanliness Russel had left in his wake. He smiled warmly at his friend's help, the gap in his teeth evident as he did so. Lanky arms rested comfortably over each other, his chin topping them so 2-D could get a better look at Susan. Thankfully, his arms bore long navy blue sleeves, informing her that he had, in fact, dressed as promised. A cheerful smile slipped languidly onto his lips, like cold molasses from a jar. "So, 'ave you seen 'em?" he cooed with the voice one would address a baby with. "I feel an 'eadache coming on. Best find 'em quick." He ducked behind the couch, apparently checking beneath it.

Susan looked to the left and right of her, unsure of where to even begin. At the very edge of her vision, 2-D hoisted himself from the floor and loped off to examine the far corner of the room, searching the small kitchenette and around the rubbish bin, now filled to the brim. Reluctant to leave her seat, Susan rose to her feet and cautiously lifted the couch cushions. Each only hid crumbs and pocket change, leaving the pair at a loss in their hunt. Susan hadn't appreciated the true height difference between them until 2-D stood next to her, gazing up at the ceiling with a hand buried in tufts of his hair, the other on his hip as he strained to recollect where he placed the bottle last. Suddenly, he dropped to the floor. It couldn't have shocked Susan more if he'd fainted dead away. However, when she composed herself, she saw that he was dragging a track suit top from under the couch, dust-ridden and obviously well worn. He scavenged the pockets.

A cry of triumph escaped his thin lips, overlong fingers pulling out an orange-yellow bottle half filled with large pills. 2-D made quick work of the childproof cap, shaking out three and downing them with a swig of flat Pepsi in a nearby can. It must have been instinct (or maybe he'd just expected fresher) because as soon as the pills were down, 2-D grimaced at the taste of stale soda. "Fanks," he rasped, a miniscule whistle trailing in his breath. "I'm nofink wifout me pills. Get 'eadaches so bad I can't do anyfink but lay in the dark an' ralph every hour or so." A thick eyebrow rose as he noted her silence. "We didn't meet proper, did we?" Susan was better prepared for the close proximity of the newest handshake, meeting it as elegantly as possible for someone in her situation. "I'm 2-D." Susan sat back in her place on the L-couch, inviting the vocalist to join her. "Yes, I've heard a lot about you," she replied skillfully, "I saw your notebooks down on the first floor. It seems you have a lot of work on your hands."

"Yeah, you could say dat," 2-D stated, taking a seat next to Susan and looking at his palms as if she meant it literally. His legs seemed to act on their own accord, crossing at the knees while his hands and eyes were occupied. Susan had the briefest impression of two thin branches covered in denim, broken and at angle after a harsh storm. He truly was very angular, almost gangly. Reclining as he was, he gave the appearance of a lounge chair, easily folded up on its self and tucked away in a neat little corner. His Cockney accent interrupted her analysis. "I'm sorry, I don't 'member what Russ said your name was." Large hands were tucked habitually under his legs, grasping the backs of his thighs. "Susan Harrison, Mr. D."

A crooked smile blossomed on 2-D's face. "Mistah D! Aww, I fink I like the sound o' that!" Gazing fondly at her, he giggled shyly. "So, Susan, whut's got you out to Kong Studio? I 'member somefink 'bout Muds askin' for an interview or some such couple weeks back, but never fought he got 'round to it." Good, questions. This is where she was most comfortable, and after realizing how child-like 2-D could be, Susan suspected most of her questions and comfort would spring from his eager mind.

"Well, 2-D, I may be staying quite some time to learn about the Gorillaz and Kong Studio. I'm a photojournalist." 2-D's brow furrowed. "A who's-it-what?" "Photojournalist; it means I take the pictures that go along with the article I write. No middlemen, see?" "Or middleladies," he pointed out; leaning in closer like what he'd said was incredibly deep and thought-provoking. It made Susan chuckle, at least. "'Ow long is quite some time, anyways? 'Ow much do you need to learn? Not nofink too personal, I hope." His fingers began drumming against his thighs, nervous. "Oh, no. Just a bit more than the usual stuff: daily life and all that, how the recording's going, studio time, the lot of it." 2-D chewed at his lip. "Did Russ go ovah the rules wif you?" Caught off guard, Susan blinked dumbly. "Rules?" "Yeah; dere's seven of dem." A hand was brought up to point at a ratty sheet of notebook paper taped to the lobby wall just beside the television. It appeared to have been ripped down numerous times and replaced with various kinds of tape. Intrigued, Susan approached it and read the bold handwriting of Russel Hobbs.

1. **Never let Murdoc cook.**

2.** If it isn't yours, don't eat it/touch it/take it.**

3.** If the lights go out, arm yourself.**

4.** Everyone is responsible for their own fans.**

5.** Cleaning is a group activity.**

6.** No booze before shows.**

7.** Don't enter a room with intent to annoy.**

8.** NEVER GO INTO THE WINNABAGO**.

"There's eight, here," Susan pointed out, "not seven." 2-D shrugged. "We don't pay much 'ttention to numbah six."

"Oh, you found the rules," Russel noted, carrying a huge laundry basket in his hands, headed for the lift. 2-D beamed, guessing he'd done right in pointing them out. "That third one is serious. Zombies come out of the graveyard when we get storms that take out the power. We got back-up generators, but it's better safe than zombie." "Yeah," 2-D agreed, "and the one 'bout Mud's Winnie. Nevah evah go in dere wifout someone else wif you." Russel let loose a dark chuckle as Susan took her seat next to 2-D once more. "True, D. Unless she wants the 'Niccals Treatment'. She doesn't seem the type, though." Taking one last meaningful glance, he called the lift, disappearing to another floor entirely. Suddenly struck with the scenes of her overactive imagination, Susan peered up at 2-D in uncertainty. The towering man had taken up cleaning his nails with a small penknife, unaware of her inner turmoil. "Is he really that…?" For once, Susan couldn't find the right words. Fathomless pits glanced her way coolly, almost pitying. "Yeah, he can be. You've prob'bly 'eard some of what he's done to me." Susan swallowed hard, lips pursed as she hoped she'd never have to run into Murdoc Niccals.

She jumped harshly when the lift door re-opened, expecting her worst fear to appear before her. Instead, a slim figure hopped out, obviously in good spirits. Clad in worn green-grey capris and a white a-shirt, Noodle yawned noiselessly on her way to the kitchenette. 2-D sat forward, eager to see his closest friend. "Morning, Noodle." From behind the bar, the guitarist jumped up to see who she passed on the couch. "Oh!" The refrigerator opened and closed rather quickly and in the blink of an eye Noodle was standing before them, a Pepsi in her fist. "Good morning, D nī-chan." Her gaze could be felt from behind her hair, which had apparently grown out since their last photo shoot. Susan immediately felt a warm rush of welcome overcome her even though she knew nothing about the girl. Russel had been right. Noodle would certainly become good friends.

"You must be Miss Harrison-jānarisuto. I'm so sorry I could not be up earlier to greet you, but I had a long night in the recording booth." She paused to open her soda, sipping delicately. At Susan's peripheral vision, 2-D licked his lips and rose to raid the fridge himself. "We are remixing Dare at the moment. I hope you have been taken care of. Did Russ-san meet you this morning?" Susan nodded hurriedly, not wanting to throw a wrench in Noodle's sterling plans by informing her of the various warnings and welcomes she received upon arrival. "It's quite a place you've got here, Miss Noodle." A simpering giggle bubbled from her chest. "Please, no Miss Noodle. Just Noodle. You won't earn brownie points by acting polite. Quite the opposite, actually." 2-D had returned to his seat, tongue between his teeth as he tried to open the can. For something so small, it put up quite a resistance. Noodle peered at him, her voice deadpan. "You got the one from the freezer, didn't you?" 2-D didn't answer, instead redoubling his efforts. Noodle quickly snatched the Pepsi away, trading him her own for the frozen time bomb. Taken aback, 2-D carefully closed his grip around the can before taking a long drink, emptying half the can with a loud hiccough.

"We don't 'ave much planned today," 2-D stated over the rim of the can as Noodle threw the frozen can in the rubbish bin, which let up a fizzing pop as the aluminum exploded. "We can watch some movies." Susan grinned coyly, knowing. "You wouldn't happen to have Dawn of the Dead, would you?" She'd only seen 2-D smile this wide on the Tomorrow Comes Today video. It was almost menacing, with as many teeth he could bare. "VHS, DVD, Blu-ray, and the Ultimate Edition DVD Box Set, Miss Susan. Take your pick."

{KONG}….{KONG}

AN: Sometimes research really helps you with your homework. Susan certainly knows that advantage. Well, while Noodle, 2-D, and Susan watch a fantastic movie, I'll write another chapter and you can write me a review. 'Til next time!


	3. Kids With Guns

Much thanks to Jo, who unknowingly inspired the next chapter!

2-D: Yeh, it's been fun so fah!

Murdoc: Shu' it, dullard. My part of the story's starting.

{KONG}...{KONG}

"Go on, get out of here." Ken Forsee prompted Gaylen Ross as she lingered by the ladder. Hoards of zombies made their way up the stairs. "I said, get out of here," he whispered, approaching her slowly. 2-D's lips twitched at the corner of Susan's vision. It took her a second to realize that 2-D was mouthing the lines feverishly, twitching in excitement. "Jesus Christ, Peter…"

Noodle passed the popcorn bowl to Susan, her hidden eyes never leaving the screen. "I don't wanna go," Ken Forsee confessed through the television screen, causing 2-D to whimper in some unreadable emotion. The tension was heavy between the trio engulfed in the final scene of Dawn of the Dead. "I really don't." Susan jumped when the door slammed open on screen, Ken Forsee whipping round with gun in hand. Cheap blood spattered the wall as he shot what remained of Roger. No one noticed when the lift doors opened behind them. Zombies entered the room while Gaylen made her escape to the roof and the helicopter awaiting her. They watched, eager, as Gaylen started up the helicopter, unaware that someone was creeping up on them, using the overwhelming volume of the television to muffle his approaching footsteps.

The undead began to climb the ladder. Ken sat in wait. Every muscle in 2-D's wiry frame was wound tight enough to snap. The chopper blades whirred. Zombies stumbled on the rooftop. The door of the back room gave a lurch, causing Ken to press the pistol to his head. Gaylen still hadn't left yet; instead, she hung outside the door, hoping her companion would change his mind, would join her. The backroom door opened and a zombie met its end with a swift bullet to the brain. 2-D was in utter rapture with the whole thing. Ken pushed a woman onto the bed, grabbing his rifle as he fought his way to safety, up the ladder, onto the roof where Gaylen was hovering. In the relative comfort of the cabin, Ken was blunt with his question. "How much fuel do we have?" "Not much," Gaylen replied coolly. "Let's go."

"OI, FACEACHE!"

The entire group jumped simultaneously, 2-D tumbling gracelessly onto the tiled floor as Murdoc Niccals howled with laughter. Susan froze up; shock overtaking her senses but also inhibiting her earlier fears. Noodle shook her head disapprovingly, brushing popcorn from her lap as she stood. 2-D was having a harder time of it, seemingly tangled in his own limbs. However, he eventually found his way upright, sitting much like a clumsy pup would, hands splayed at his groin and legs pell-mell on either side. "Morning, Mudsie." A genuinely pleased smile graced 2-D's face as he caught sight of his elder bassist, acting as if he hadn't fallen on Murdoc's account at all. Still grinning, Murdoc produced a crumpled cigarette and Zippo from the pocket of his boot-cut jeans, lighting up swiftly. Recognizing his opportunity, 2-D scrambled for his own pack of Lucky Lungs (slightly crushed from residing in his back pocket), motioning Murdoc downward as he pressed it to his mouth. Smoke trailed out from between Murdoc's teeth as he lowered his cigarette to 2-D's, allowing the tips to touch so 2-D could take a drag long enough to light his own before bringing it back to his smirking lips.

Susan numbly took inventory of the man she'd been so afraid of. He, like Noodle, had been prepared for her arrival and had dressed accordingly in a faded black tee and jeans. He was surprisingly simple, the most elaborate article on him being his custom Cuban boots that clipped against the ground with every loping stride that brought him to the L-couch. His skin was not a horrid green color like that Susan saw on some album covers, but rather a charming olive skin tone that held a health unknown in his profession. The snubbed nose, the pointed teeth, disappointed scowl in place; this was Murdoc Niccals at his finest. The couch dipped as he sat beside Susan, still slow to act as the shock wore away. Noodle had stopped the disk and put in a new movie, some sort of foreign independent film, and returned to her place beside them, unknowingly causing Susan to become trapped between her and the bassist. It was nerve-wracking, to say the least.

2-D smoked on the floor, pleasantness smeared over his face like jam over toast, a perfect match, the preferred choice. Maybe it was the way the light caught his blood-darkened eye or the content smile on his hair-thin lips, but somehow his features fell in just the right places to merit loveliness. He snuck glances at the group before him through the haze of his own smoke, his eyes turning from a glittering darkness to the muted shade of charcoal in the fog. Clearly he was happy with the turn of events, even though the only thing that had actually changed was the seating arrangement.

A hard glare bore into the side of Susan's head, breaking her stream of observation like icy water over a lit candle. She reluctantly turned to face Murdoc's haughty expression. "This Harrison?" Noodle grunted in affirmation, eyes never leaving the television screen while Murdoc glowered down at Susan. 2-D's grin faltered around the edges as the bassist's mismatched gaze wandered a bit too freely. "Susan's a photojournalist or somfink, Mudsie. She's gonna take our pictures while she writes her article 'bout us." "Yeah?" He shot 2-D a sneer and turned away from Susan, much to her relief. A beat passed between the men before 2-D beamed hugely, his eyes slits at the sheer volume of his smile. Susan thought the situation had been expertly defused thanks to 2-D's quick thinking. That is, until Murdoc stood and walked to the kitchenette, punching 2-D in the face as he passed. The pianist toppled over once more, staying that way until Murdoc returned with a beer and flinching as his boot stopped over him threateningly on its way back to the couch.

Just as she'd expected, Murdoc's attitude was as harsh and vicious as straight vodka. She scooted a cushion away when the bassist took his seat and gave the television a suspicious glance. The obscure plot must not have been to his liking because the cool beer soon received more attention than he'd given Susan. It only took a flick of the Zippo for the top to pop off and a swig to be drank. 2-D was picking himself up as Murdoc began his raspy speech.

"Miss Harrison, we are in the middle of very important business; _very _important. Our dear Noodle is in the midst of remixing her only solo song. 2-D is collaborating with someone insignificant but vital for our next live performance. Russel is…" he peered at Noodle, who shrugged in return. "Russel is doing something, I'm sure. I know you have not experienced the thrilling adventure that is rooming with internationally famous musicians, so enjoy the ride and stay out of our way! Just try not to die, choose your room wisely and don't touch anything so we can get along. I will warn you," Murdoc paused to catch the band's attention. 2-D squinted blearily up at them as Noodle turned her head slightly. "We will be leaving for the summer house in a couple days. 2-D's recording needs to conclude there. Plus, we could use the break."

Puzzled, 2-D cocked his head; eyes still squinted as if he were trying to see in the dark. "We 'ave a summah 'ouse?" "Plastic Beach, D-san." A flash of fear turned curiosity into dread. "Beach 'as the big fish…dem whales, too…." His bottom lip tucked itself into his mouth, visible through the gap. It took Susan a moment to realize that this was 2-D biting his lower lip in anxiety with nonexistent teeth. "I don't like dem whales," 2-D murmured, more to himself than the rest of them. He stood gingerly, as if every muscle in his legs were ready to snap. "'Scuse me. I gotta go find somefink." With that, he shuffled to the lift and disappeared into the depths of Kong Studio. Noodle watched him go before getting to her own feet and punching Murdoc in the shoulder. It hardly fazed him. Murdoc rubbed the spot absentmindedly as he gulped down another swig of beer. "Easy, Princess. Wouldn't want to go breaking a nail, would you?" Susan was dragged away from the couch by a firm hand on her wrist and stumbled after an enraged Noodle, who jabbed angrily at the lift's call button and waited. Murdoc sighed dramatically from behind them. "I can't help that there's whales in the ocean, Noods. We've got to finish the recording there! It's not like I'm gonna lock him under again!" The lift took longer to come than Susan's last few journeys. 2-D must just be getting off at whatever floor he'd called to. Noodle huffed impatiently, ignoring Murdoc, much to the bassist's annoyance. "Jeez, you act like I'm some sort of evil man, Noods. I'm not gonna hurt him, you know that."

The lift finally opened for them and Noodle didn't hesitate to march inside, prodding Susan along with her. They barely caught a glimpse of the guilt in Murdoc's mismatched eyes before the lift doors clanged shut, carrying them down to the second floor. Susan glanced over when Noodle let out a sniffle. The young woman was scrubbing at her right eye in what Susan could only assume to be a vain attempt to ward off tears. "Sorry," Noodle coughed, regaining her composure as the lift slowed. "They go through some rough times. At this point, it's a little difficult ignoring their pain." "Murdoc locked 2-D somewhere?" Susan inquired lightly, once again being led by the wrist down the beginning of a dizzying set of long hallways. "Yes, Su-san. They took a trip to Plastic Beach back when we were just building the second studio. Apparently, Murdoc felt the need to push 2-D around as usual, but something was different. 2-D fought back, much to my surprise. He has become very mellow since adopting Buddhism. I never would have suspected him to find the ability to fight, and certainly not against Murdoc-sama."

Noodle's firm grip and determined stride weakened until she was left stock still and peering sadly at her sneakered feet, Susan enraptured by the tale a few paces behind her. "2-D said to me that it was worth the nine month imprisonment to have achieved whatever he had with those few hits. He bruised most of Murdoc's face and quite a few ribs, but received nearly the same in return, if not more. Murdoc locked him away in a room deep below the surface of Plastic Beach and kept him there for months on end. By the time we realized something wasn't right, D-san was practically broken in the mind. Murdoc had convinced a whale to guard 2-D. He'd always disliked whales, but now he flails and even faints at the sight of them. He probably went looking for his mask earlier. He wore it all while in that room, believing that if the whale didn't see his face, it wouldn't recognize him if he ever got out. All he had to look at was the littered ocean and his worst nightmare day in and day out. A true hell for 2-D if there ever was one, though he does not deserve it." Noodle once again grasped Susan by the wrist and continued leading her along.

"I can only hope that the creature has forgotten its vows in Murdoc's long absence," the guitarist concluded, stopping outside a cheap simple door amid a hall of broken ones. "Is Murdoc always this cruel?" Noodle paused in turning the knob, debating. "Cruel: no. Stubborn and harsh, maybe, but that's just his way." A cold gust escaped the room as Noodle opened the door, but Susan was shocked at how clean it was. It was like entering a hotel room. Only the bare minimum lied within: a single bed with white sheets, a dresser, and lamp-topped nightstand. "This room is connected to mine, so I'll be your guide to living here. If you have any problems, find me. If you cannot find me, find Russel." Susan tentatively approached the bed to sit on its cover, calming herself. "I trust you brought your things?" A swift nod and Noodle was closing the door. "I'll be back with them."

{KONG}...{KONG}

Murdoc: ...eh...'s alrigh'...

2-D: Yew kicked me! Tosser.

Reviews are much loved!


	4. Happy Landfill

Jo, yew take some credit fer this one!

2-D: Yay! New chap'ah! New chap'ah!

Murdoc: Quiet, dullard. It's star'in'….

Chapter Four, everyone!

{KONG}….{KONG}

Susan was woken from a cat nap by three swift knocks at her door. She spared the electric alarm clock a glance as she rose to her bare feet. Noodle had barely been gone fifteen minutes, and in that time Susan had slipped off her shoes and stockings in favor of a nerve-relaxing bit of shut eye. She shuffled to the door, letting in Noodle and a wary-looking 2-D, both with a duffle bag in tow. Noodle motioned for 2-D to place it on the bed, perching there herself after relieving herself of her own bag. "All set'led, den?" 2-D inquired, sitting gingerly on the carpeted floor in a series of elbows and angles.

"For the most part," Susan replied, tousling her hair. The short bit of sleep she'd achieved rumpled most of her usually straight sable hair and in order to arrange it, she unzipped the bag closest to 2-D, which held her hairbrush among other things. 2-D, curious, tried peering into the depths beyond her hands, but was quickly intercepted by a light swat to the forehead from Noodle. He feigned hurt, sticking his tongue out at the guitarist as Susan began ripping the brush through her hair. "Can I 'elp yew?" He reached up from the floor for the brush. Susan stared back at his fathomless eyes, a bit unnerved. "Calms me down, is all. I 'elp Noods almos' ev'ry day." She tipped the handle into his waiting hand; with the other, 2-D patted the floor before him, calling her to sit. Noodle smiled approvingly as he began his work.

"So, when are you going to conduct the first interview, Su-san?" Noodle began politely, watching the pair as they interacted. "Oh, I won't be sitting you down for a traditional interview. I'm here to observe. Everything you do will be providing me with an experience I can act on." Susan felt a small tug as 2-D separated the back of her hair into sections, paying careful attention to each part. She could feel the whoosh and draw of his breath on her scalp, relaxed in the monotonous task. "Oh, that's a relief. We can never get Murdoc to sit through one for more than an hour. In fact, the last time we…did…" she paused, listening hard. 2-D heard the sound as well glancing around the room for the source. To Susan's untrained ears, it simply sounded like an electronic whine, a ringing of the ears. To the others, it was the distinct sound of a very loud amp being prepped for performance. Sure enough, both band members shot murderous glares at the celling as a very deep and obnoxious bass guitar plucked out the introductory chords of Feel Good Inc.

"Dammit," Noodle groaned, hiding her face in her hands. "What is it? Murdoc's just practicing, right?" Susan tried reassuring the younger girl. "No, Su-san. I prepared you this room, but didn't realize that it was under the recording booth. Murdoc plays every day, sometimes for hours." Susan felt 2-D's leg twitching against her foot. Noodle noticed as well, smiling down on him from her place on the bed. 2-D was measuring the beat as he resumed brushing. Honestly, he didn't seem completely attentive and it worried Susan. "Feel good," he murmured under his breath, gathering the smooth tresses and making quick work of a one-shoulder braid, sealing it with a rubber band from his wrist, previously hidden by his navy sleeve. "Feel good."

As per usual, Susan's 'feeler' refused to be tamed. 2-D gave it an appreciative tug before getting to his feet and humming his respective lyrics. "Do you guys want to help me unpack?" Susan inquired eager to spend more time with her newfound friends. Noodle nodded surely, rising to open the set of dresser drawers while 2-D rummaged around in the already-opened duffle bag. He gasped suddenly as Noodle turned to scold him, closing an object in his grip and hefting it into the air with triumph. "Crayola crayons!" he squealed, opening the large box to peer inside at the well-worn sticks of wax, each color on its own little level. "Yeah, all 133 standard colors. I use them to sketch poses I plan to capture for my articles," she reached into the same bag, retrieving a stack of fax paper and handing it over to the awe-struck singer. "Sometimes I just draw. Give it a try." 2-D beamed hugely, falling onto his bottom and setting to work on what was sure to be a masterpiece.

The bass above them continued to lay an impressively simple yet robust beat. Noodle offered her assistance in folding and arranging Susan's clothing, showing her the hidden door behind the dresser (which surprisingly enough, was on an unnoticeable set of wheels), and tips on Gorillaz style which may as well have been coming from a professional.

"Noods! Sue! 'Ook wha' I drew!"

2-D held up a sheet of fax paper with his own image on it, completely in crayon. His hair was at least three subtle shades of blue and he'd used half the black crayon making the hoodie as dark as possible, but the overall effect was rather cute. "It's real nice, 2-D." Susan prompted, Noodle grinning in agreement behind her. 2-D's cheeks flushed, beaming back with unabashed happiness. He put it back on the floor to sign the very corner with a light pink crayon called Thistle. "Done!" He held it up for inspection, the very bottom corner now bearing the name 'Stu'. Noodle had just opened her mouth to say something when there was a knock at the door.

"Yo, Noodle! Ya in tha'?"

She rushed to the door, where Susan saw one of the few things she hadn't been expecting during her stay. Del the Ghost stood before them, his trail of blue smoke leading back down the hall and undoubtedly to wherever Russel was located inside the studio. "Ey, Noods. Russel sent me tah get y'all; said tah tell y'all lunch is waitin' fer ya." "Sure thing, Del-sama. We'll be down soon." The apparition nodded, the yellow cap on his head flopping in place before he was zipped away by his smoky tail like water down a drain.

"Well," she chirped, smiling brightly, "lunch!" 2-D snatched up his drawing in one hand and Susan's wrist in the other, matching down the hall with a determined stride. Noodle closed the door and fiddled with the knob before trotting after them. She dropped a small silver key into Susan's breast pocket with a grin. The journalist shot her a questioning look, which was only answered with a larger grin. "You never know who comes lurking in the night, Su-san."

{KONG}….{KONG}

Any good? Reviews for the plot are loved!


	5. Double Bass

So, we have an inkling of underlying conflict in this one. It took forever to word correctly, but I think we've finally got it.

2-D: Get on wif da story~!

Partially inspired by Crowsgurl. She'll know which part.

{KONG}...{KONG}

"I've decided to take ya to the mall, Miss Susan," Russel announced as he set a bowl of homemade macaroni in front of an eager 2-D, who positively squealed with delight upon receiving it. "You and Noodle both, actually." Noodle nodded from beside 2-D, far too preoccupied with her fish sticks and ketchup to talk.

The café was roomy and comfortable. There were eight different booth tables, a gourmet kitchen, and a front counter complete with cash register. It was like eating in town without the cost or crowd, and Susan could understand why they might miss it. Murdoc had not yet come down from the third floor recording booth to join them here on the first, which suited Susan fine. She would go out of her way to avoid him, if necessary.

Russel set a plate of cheddar fries on the table for her. "That's nice of you, Russel, but the money I have with me is the last for the month. It's all I have for rent and bills on my apartment back home." She picked about the warm plate for the end of a fry in the mass of cheese, keeping her eyes low. "Naw, Miss Susan, ya misunderstood. Noodle keeps ahold of the Gorillaz credit card." Russel sat down beside Noodle with his own plate of fish sticks and fries. "For her protecting it, she spends a portion of the money on things we need and stuff she wants. You'll be going with Noodle, so it counts toward the card." He bit into a fry while pointing to her shirt. "You're going to need new clothes. Ya hang with us, ya look like us. Makes it easier on you once we go public."

2-D suddenly looked up from his bowl, spoon in hand. "Where is yer 'ome, anyways? Is it near here?" Susan glanced up from her plate, giving up in her search and grasping the bit of potato closest to the edge. "Chester, near Liverpool," she replied sheepishly. "Oh! So you're a bit away, then? Not that far, though." Noodle stated, looking up at Russel. "About 90 miles, right?" Russel nodded, unable to respond for eating. "I couldn't stand being far from my mother, though," Susan continued politely, "so I found a journalism career as close to my hometown as possible." "And where would that be?" "Stoke-On-Trent," she continued, only to be cut off by a dark chuckle at the door.

"Someone else from the hell hole, eh?" Murdoc stepped into the café with good spirits, however dark they were. "Maybe you knew my father." "Yes, he's quite a celebrity himself, isn't he?" Susan returned coldly, watching Murdoc as he walked past them to the front counter, grabbing the bowl of macaroni that awaited him there, and returned to the booth to slide in next to Susan. "I wouldn't know; I was never much of a fan." He began eating without another word, acting as if Susan wasn't there. Russel glared hard at Murdoc, who returned with a sneer. 2-D ducked his head, spooning more lunch into his mouth like a scolded child. Picking at her plate, Susan froze under the silence. Noodle seemed to notice, slowly chewing at the end of a fish stick and glancing her direction. 2-D was the one brave enough to shatter the hush between the five of them.

"I drew a pic'cha, Muds. Wanna see it?" Murdoc sighed dramatically, dropping his spoon into his bowl with a clatter. "Fine, dullard; already lost my appetite, anyways, with you opening your gob and talking." 2-D seemed oblivious to the insult, reaching into his pocket and handing over the crayon drawing. Susan's stomach dropped in preparation of whatever Murdoc may do: tear it, burn it…eat it. Nothing was too crazy for a Niccals. He unfolded the fax sheet, looking at it a moment before tilting his head. "What am I looking at, exactly?" "It's me." He tilted his head to the other shoulder, his face brightening after a moment more. "Oh, yeah! I see it now!" The sarcasm could have pooled on the floor with as much was coating his voice. "Thought I knew that ugly face somewhere." He passed it back to a sheepish-looking 2-D, who returned it to his pocket and grabbed his bowl, eating his last bite before disappearing under the table. Russel grunted, punching Murdoc's upper arm with a fleshy thud as the bassist lifted his spoon again. The utensil dropped from his hand to jangle against the tile. "Nice going, Russ," he scoffed, rising to his feet to retrieve it and throw it at his assaulter. He was about to leave in a huff when 2-D called out to him from under the table. "Can I come to dah Winnie, Muds? We can watch a movie or somefink."

"Sweet Satan, not another zombie flick!" he cried in disbelief. 2-D was quick to correct him. "No, no, no, I swear! I won't bring no zombie movie!" With the voice radiating from under the table, Susan became very aware she was in a skirt. She clenched her knees together, not taking any chances, though 2-D didn't seem the type to do such ungentlemanly things as looking up a woman's skirt. "Fine, dullard," Murdoc sighed, relenting. "But be quick about it."2-D scuttled out from under the table, bowl in hand, as Murdoc left. He put his dishes inside Murdoc's in a neat little stack, adding the launched spoon and carrying the dishes to the kitchen. Water was heard running briefly before 2-D trotted back through the café and out the door, headed for the carpark and Murdoc's infamous Winnebago.

Susan relaxed. When her eyes traveled back to the table, Noodle was eating the last of her food. Russel was already clearing the dishes, and Susan handed her barely touched meal to him, grateful not to be doing the dishes for once. "Do you want a tour of the place, Su-san? I'd hate for you to get lost while you stay here." Susan nodded vigorously. "That'd be nice," she commented, eager to get her chief concern out of her path. Noodle scuttled out of the booth, waiting for Susan to do the same while Russel rejoined them. "Well," she began, now that Susan had gotten to her bare feet, "this is the fourth floor. There are twelve floors total, not counting both layers of the basement and the attic. We don't go in the attic." Susan was about to ask why, but was cut off. "We just don't."

"There are sixty rooms in all. Most were guest rooms, but the Gorillaz have converted many into practice studios, rec rooms, and the occasional personal vault." She led Susan out of the café and into the long hall, which reached either end of the building, never branching off. "I don't even remember which rooms are which sometimes."

The trio roamed Kong for the next two hours, making stops at the more interesting rooms like the indoor pool, aquarium, 2-D's Ping-Pong playing room, the home theater, the acting stage, Noodle's massive closet, Russel's practice room, the instrument storage facility, and the recording studio above Susan's room. El Diablo, Murdoc's satanic bass guitar, was still plugged into the amp he'd been practicing with. Noodle made sure to turn the volume all the way down before switching it off and wheeling it back to its corner. "That's all there is to it, really, other than the top floors and basements, but we hardly ever go there; oh, and the carpark." Noodle suddenly snapped to attention. "Oh, my gosh! The carpark! I forgot to lock your car, Su-san!"

Susan shrugged, not worried in the least. "It's okay, Noodle. No one will steal it all the way up here, right?" Russel shook his head. "The zombies might, though. You have no idea how many times we've found the Geep in their undead hands because Murdoc forgot to lock it." Sighing, Susan fished the keys from her pocket, now ready to walk the halls alone. "I'll meet you in my room, Noodle. Thanks for the tour, you guys." Russel nodded solemnly, waving as she left to call the lift. It opened instantly, allowing her in and carrying her to the ground floor. She passed the front desk and yanked open the door, only to be stopped by a thunderous downpour of rain. It came down everywhere, practically rattling the air as it sped past. She shut the door, feeling damp just from exposure to the outdoors. She scurried on bare feet beyond the front desk, down the long hall to the side door, which opened directly into the carpark. She opened the worn and beaten door with a bit of a shove, it being heavier than she'd expected. The concrete garage echoed the distant sounds of rain throughout it. To her left was a door similar to that she just went through, the only difference being a scarlet '2-D' spray painted on its surface. 2-D's room, most likely a tool room before the Gorillaz owned the place. To her right, the Winnebago sat an equal distance away, the soft sound of a television working within fighting to be heard over the echo of the storm. Susan stepped down gingerly, hissing at the cold against her feet. Her trek to the car was chilly and damp as she crossed the garage in silence, ran to lock the doors, and returned soaking with rain. Her hair clung to her, her shirt now a bit transparent about her shoulders. Now, the journey back to her room and into new clothes.

She made her way back across the carpark when she heard a faint call. She looked about warily, initially suspecting a zombie, maybe woken by the violent storm. Or perhaps Who's floated by on a speck of dust. Anything seemed possible here. Then she heard it again, unintelligible, but noticeably slurred. The Winnebago gave a soft lurch, drawing her attention. 2-D was in there. With Murdoc, no less. Susan, naturally curious, left the security of the door and crept closer to the Winnie, wondering what kind of abuse Murdoc could possibly be putting the singer through now. The wide window at the back of the Winnie was covered by curtains; spare a gap between the cloths an inch or two in length. Susan stepped onto a cinder block nearby, then onto a small pillar consisting of three cinderblocks, raising her just high enough to peer inside. But, in short, the sight she witnessed was nothing she would ever expect.

2-D's face was in perfect view. Something about the angle had lined him up with her vision between the curtains. She could only see to his shoulders, but it was clear his navy shirt was absent. And then, there was Murdoc. She only glimpsed a scrap of his ebony hair, a glittering of his one ruby eye focused on 2-D in an expression akin to hunger, but there was no doubt as to what they were doing. He bent over 2-D, their bodies pressed flush against one another, rocking together softly as his jagged teeth bit at the jutting line of 2-D's collarbone. Susan worked up enough heart amid her shock to try to turn away from the sight, but as soon as she moved backward, 2-D's mutilated eyes flashed open, knowing. He stared at her with those fathomless eyes, drawing her attention back to the scene until there was no hope of escape.

Like any normal person would, Susan expected him to freak, shout, maybe alert Murdoc or at least shut the curtains, but he simply held her steady gaze as he was used by the bassist. He almost looked sad, though it was hard to convey most emotions simply without irises or pupils. He parted his lips in what Susan could hear as a muffled moan, tossing his head back in ecstasy and finally breaking eye contact. He held Murdoc to his neck, shifting slightly to give him room as the older man worked a hickey into his pale skin. This also kept him from spotting Susan. 2-D was effectively shielding Susan from Murdoc's wrath once again. His trembling lips opened softly, mouthing a clear pleading message above Murdoc's head. 'Please don't tell.'

2-D grasped the curtain's edge, shifting it closed and blocking the two of them from her sight. A louder muffled moan rent the air, signaling Susan cover to run away without being overheard. She took the opportunity, dashing to the door and closing it as quietly as humanly possible behind her. Knees shaking, she slid down the heavy door, still in shock over what she'd just witnessed and fighting with her press-like instinct to ignore 2-D's plea. Information like this, coupled with a photo, would shoot her straight to the top…and ruin the Gorillaz.

{KONG}...{KONG}

So what will poor Susan choose? If you haven't read it yet, the RP Noodle's Sabotage is a side story, much hinted at in this chapter. It doesn't necessarily blend the same plot, but is still a great read if you like where this is going so far. Much love for those who leave reviews~!


	6. Punk

So, because of some real great reviews (and much encouragement for Susan) I wrote this short chapter while the next major plot point is being scripted.

2-D: I'm not too sure I want tah be in dis story anymore…

Murdoc: Shut it, faceache.

2-D: I was exposed! Fer all ta see!

Murdoc: …not much to look at…

{KONG}….{KONG}

Noodle stooped low as she walked through the hidden door, pushing the dresser out of the way so she could get through. Susan inhabited her bed, pajamas adorned with tiny pink and blue birds on the otherwise white cotton, a pad and pen in hand to keep her mind occupied. Noodle had only just returned to her room and was surprised to see Susan in her nightwear, apparently retiring for the night. It was barely breaching four in the afternoon, but without anything exciting everyone was doing about the same as Susan: idly passing time. Something wasn't right about Susan, though. Her face was drawn, tight about the mouth. Noodle made mental notes to speak carefully, not wanting to upset her.

"Are you alright, Su-san? You look like you've seen a ghost. They won't hurt you, if you have."

Susan shook her head, mouth still held in a firm line even though her eyes never left the paper. "I'm just worried about this opening article," she lied thinly, patting the bedside to invite the guitarist over. "Locked your car, then?" The journalist stiffened, her mouth twitching once or twice. "Yeah," she replied, crossing out a sentence and tossing her notes from the bed, rolling to her side. There was an awkward thrill as her night shirt rode up an inch and her bare skin touched that of Noodle's waist, where her capris didn't quite meet her shirt. They scooted a respectable distance away from each other, both trying to be polite in the other's company.

"What's going on for the rest of the day?" Susan inquired gently, having tired of work already. Noodle shrugged. "We don't really plan, so you have free reign of the evening." Susan mulled it over, an idea striking her fancy after a moment or two of thought. "How about a party?" "We already have parties." Susan wasn't surprised. "I don't. Apartments aren't the best places to have loud music." Noodle giggled into her hand, relenting. "Well, we have some loud music, that's for sure."

She slid like smooth silk from Susan's bed, a movement borne of lazy grace and dripping with self-esteem. "A welcoming party, then," Noodle announced, spreading her arms wide as she pictured it in her mind: music, performances, snacks, booze, and all; the whole nine yards. "Yes, it's fitting, Su-san." The teen turned on heel, pointing at the journalist. "Get some rest. I'll come for you at eight." With that, Noodle left the way she came. The small door swung shut behind her and Susan let out a shaky sigh of relief. Murdoc and 2-D would be at the party; what had she talked herself into? The images were still fresh on her mind and jumbling her sense of right and wrong. She had the biggest story in current day music in her capable hands, a story that would surely get her enough money to last her the next year or two in plush living conditions. But then she began to think of the sorrow on 2-D's face should she ever publish such a thing. The magazine would do better than ever. But she would be shunned by any and all who collaborated with the Gorillaz…and that was a lot of music artists. She'd be the most controversial journalist in modern history.

All the mixed feelings were making her brain seem heavy. She rolled onto her stomach, feeling truly tired as she rested her head on her arms. A little nap really couldn't hurt….

{KONG}….{KONG}

I hope this hold you guys over until the party!


	7. White Light

Sorry for the incredibly long wait, guys! I've been baby-sitting out the wazoo this month and plot is hard to come up with on the spot when you are getting sippy cups and changing diapers... =_=' Ah, well, enjoy!

{KONG}...{KONG}

The party was planned and conducted by Noodle, but nothing much happened other than blasting Demon Days over the high-quality sound system, struggling to keep the television volume louder than the stereo, and the occasional trek to the kitchenette for another beer. Murdoc sat on the kitchenette counter surrounded by glass bottles of stronger liquors in varying degrees of emptiness, trying to convince others into drinking a shot or two, but drinking it himself when his offer was rejected. 2D had found a rather comfortable-looking perch on a wooden shipping crate in the midst of the rec/living room floor, elbows on his knees as he leaned forward, watching the others as they sat on the L-couch and spoke of nothing in particular. When the moment seemed right, Murdoc would shout drunkenly from the kitchenette, but his calls were usually drowned out by the combined sounds of the television and radio.

Susan couldn't help but feel 2D's black eyes wander to her, heart fluttering when he did so. She was holding his secret firm between her teeth, but it could slip away if she was foolish enough to weaken her grip on it any. Hours passed in seconds, words floated through her head and left just as quick, but only the thought of what she'd witnessed remained. Susan felt as though the weight of it all was killing her. She needed the money now more than ever, but she couldn't ruin _lives _in for her own gain…

Noodle stopped talking as Susan rose to her feet, watching with curiosity as the journalist made for the lift, giving 2-D a wide berth. "Where are you going, Su-san?" she chimed as the lift was called. "Bed," the journalist replied, waiting for the doors to open. "This is terribly late for me." "But it's only 10:30, Su-san."

Susan shrugged, stepping in as the lift doors finally opened. "I'll see you tomorrow, Noodle." The lift closed and carried her down to the second floor, where her bedroom was. When the guitarist came to get Susan for her party, she'd pointed out the faint pencil marks that she'd taken the liberty of making for Susan to get in and out of the maze of halls by herself. The journalist followed these slowly, reassuring herself by checking for the markings and trying to memorize the way, only to lose count somewhere along the way. Was it straight, left, right, right, left, third hall, then the middle hall or the middle hall before the third? Her brain hurt to think too hard, so she just followed the lines for now, intent on learning them in due time.

Producing the silver key from her pajama pocket, Susan unlocked her door and shut it tight behind her, knowing that if Noodle needed her, she would go through her doorway behind the dresser. Rubbing her eyes and snatching up the notebook she'd discarded on the floor, Susan sat on her bed and flipped through her notes on what she'd learned so far. None of it had much to do with the release of Demon Days, which was the _reason_ she was here, but it was information and information earned Susan her paycheck. After a moment or two of flipping pages and repeated sighs, Susan tossed the notebook back to the floor…in front of a pair of Cuban-heeled boots.

Susan moved as if to run, but Murdoc had her pinned to the wall behind her bed before her tired limbs could get from the mattress. Whimpering and struggling weakly, Susan turned her head to avoid whatever might be coming, seeing the dresser shoved aside and the doorway open. She'd been so caught up in work…

"Shush, Su," he crooned, turning her face back to look into her russet eyes, shifting closer so that he could sit on his feet on the mattress. "I'm not gonna hurt you, yeah?" She could hardly trust him, let alone _believe_ him, but he made no movement until she stopped trying to escape, holding her there with a rough hand to her shoulder, his sharp nails digging in slightly. "What do you want?" she whispered fearfully, pushing at his hand although it didn't adjust. "I wanna know what you know, Su," he replied simply, "I wanna know what you _saw_, yeah?" His eyebrows quirked up, inviting her to spill the beans. "I _know_ you saw."

Susan nodded, though she was dreading what might happen. Murdoc smelled strongly of his drinks, but he didn't appear to be as drunk as he'd acted earlier. He was actually acting quite clearly for someone who she had personally seen drink four shots of tequila, quite possibly more when she hadn't been present. Susan's mouth worked to say the words, but nothing came out as she spoke. Murdoc nodded understandingly, waving his free hand as if to shush her. "That'll just be our little secret then, alright? No one has to know, yeah?" he inquired lightly, his hand leaving her shoulder. "Because if you tell and word gets out, that's gonna hurt 2-D." The bassist stood back, straightening his shirt. "And if someone hurts 2-D, I hurt _them_. I always have and I always will, and that won't stop," he continued, pointing a finger directly in front of her nose, "just because you're a woman. I've dealt with them, too." Murdoc dropped his finger, allowing Susan some sort of relaxation even though he made her endure more threats. "Paula, Rachel, all of them left because they started to hurt 2-D. Don't think _you're_ any different."

Sounds could be heard from the other side of the doorway, making Murdoc jump in his skin and rush to shut the open hatch. Rounding back, he motioned to Susan's bedroom door with an expression of slight fright. "Let me out," he demanded, pushing the dresser back into place. Susan fumbled for her key and stood well out of his way as Murdoc rushed out and back down the hall at a sprint, clearly making his way to the staircase he must have come down from. Shaking, Susan shut her door and locked it firmly, leaving the silver key in its place as she sat shakily down at the foot of her bed. What was she going to do _now_…?

{KONG}...{KONG}

So, a threatening speech from our dear bassist leaves our already unstable journalist shaking in her heels. What do you think should happen next? Send me a review with your response, maybe even an OC you would like included in the next chapter or two, and I get back to you _much sooner _than last time. Much love~!


	8. Last Living Souls

So very very sorry for not updating. I hit a massive snag in the plot and was having trouble planning out the rest of the story, but we're chugging along smoothly from now on. Your reviews have been very encouraging, though I have received flames that dampened my heart, you guys really get me through.

{KONG}...{KONG}

Susan jumped out of a shaky sleep by a knock on her door. When had she even fallen asleep? She peered blearily at the alarm clock, which told her it was little past two in the afternoon. Not only had she slept, but she'd slept in. Denying her fear that it may yet again be the bassist, she rushed to open the door, the key still in its hole. Wrenching it open, Dell stood before her, expression slightly worried as she attempted to tame her wild sable hair. He was on his feet this time around, meaning Russel must have been asleep somewhere in the studio. "Uh…Noodle said to get you up. Lunch is ready, and Russ'll be up soon to take ya'll to the mall." Susan nodded hastily, untangling knots with her fingers. "We're in the café, so…" Susan nodded again, dropping her hands in frustration. "Yeah, I'll meet you guys there." Waving half-heartedly, Del made his way back down the hall and Susan shut the door rather quickly. Pressing her back to the smooth wood, she looked around. She needed to change.

Approaching her dresser now was like walking into a dark room: you expected the boogieman to jump out from behind something and scare the bejeezus out of you. She did it, just like any other naïve woman in a horror film, though she checked to be sure that the door behind it was firmly shut before even thinking about clothes.

She was sure to be coming home with at least half a new wardrobe, so she chose something rather comfortable compared to her work wear: boot-cut jeans and a black turtleneck who coupled with equally dark military boots. Midway through lacing her shoes, she heard the light wafting of 2-D's singing voice from down the hall, heading her way. Susan redoubled her pace, hurrying as to meet him out there without Murdoc getting in between them. But then she heard him, too…

"Do I have to?"

"Yes, you do."

"I meant it, though!"

"Don't mat'er! Noodle's gonna throw a fi' if she knew you upse' Su!"

Susan hastily put the last knot on her boot just as the knock sounded on her door, causing her to yelp in panic and topple backward, falling hard on her rear. Hissing in pain, Susan rubbed her lower back and scrambled up again just as quickly to open the door. 2D leaned against the doorframe, taking up the entire left side with his height, Murdoc standing uncomfortably beside him. "Mu'doc 'as a few thin's to say," 2D muttered softly, and would have continued had Murdoc not cut him off with a rather loud outburst. "For fuck's sake, Stu, she's press! She's gonna hurt you either way!" He grabbed 2D's wrist tightly, yanking him away from the door and almost sending the thin man topping into him. 2D managed to get ahold of himself and simply stand before his lover, brows drawn down in something akin to irritation.

"It don't fucking matter if she's nice or not; she's gonna spill it!" Susan remained motionless as Murdoc's expression slowly changed from rage to meekness as 2D simply stared him down with an ever-increasing look of anger. "I'm fed up wit' it," he said slowly, "you an' these temper tantrums." Murdoc bit his lower lip, but the spark in his eye suggested he'd not lost his protests so easily. 2D turned back to Susan, trying to bring back his air of seriousness. "Mu'doc shouldn't 'ave said what he did," the singer murmured softly, his way of apologizing. "He jus' 'as trouble respec'ing certain members of aufority." "Not exactly authority, am I?" Susan snipped coolly, looking solely at Murdoc. "Certainly not," the bassist returned, his back straightening. "Either way," 2D continued, shooting Murdoc a dark look that almost certainly promised a night on the Winnebago couch, "he should be respec'ing you for being 'ere. It's proper, seeing as you're a guest."

Murdoc sneered. "Oh, don't go throwing your mum's words at me," he snapped, "I'm not babying you anymore and I'm certainly not babying her!" 2D's face went from angry to blank as drywall in the span of a second. Murdoc watched, unsure of what was happening then realizing everything just a second too late. 2D's eyes had hazed over and he dropped quite suddenly, as if he'd fainted. Murdoc cried out in shock, mirrored by Susan, and both rushed to 2D's aide, though Murdoc got there just a second sooner. He gathered him up in his arms protectively, shooting Susan a venomous glare before he was able to realize she was there to help, his features quickly settling into the closest thing to an apology as he could muster, the end result making him look vaguely ill. Susan touched 2D's neck, feeling his pulse, though it had slowed to complete and utter relaxation. He could have been, for all rights and reasons, simply asleep. Until Murdoc began to panic. Susan watched as the bassist began prodding at 2D harshly, learning that panic for him quickly turned to anger when nothing went right. The jabs to the singer's side were enough to leave bruises, and Murdoc's face was slowly beginning to show his anger. "Wake up," he growled through clenched teeth, jabbing him again. Susan tried to dissuade his hand, but the older man was quick to give her fingers a sharp slap out of the way.

Just as Susan was about to panic as well, 2D's eyes opened quite suddenly, too suddenly to have been real. "A great actor, ain't I?" he muttered to Murdoc, a smirk on his lips. "Not babying me anymore? I don't 'ardly believe it." He stood, leaving Murdoc's lap as he walked down the hall back from whence he came. "Sorry again, Su-love," he called back, Murdoc cursing and scrambling to hurry after 2D's long-legged strides. Susan just sat there, immensely relieved something hadn't gone wrong…or had it?

{KONG}...{KONG}


End file.
